


You Made Me Live Again

by mysticanni



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Injury, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-23 00:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20883116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: England 1922You are cordially invited to a masquerade ball at Queen Hall.





	You Made Me Live Again

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'masquerade' prompt for Poly!Queen Week 2019.

England, 1922

  
Brian looked at the invitation for the thousandth time. Burnt sienna words on thick cream card. You are cordially invited to a masquerade ball at Queen Hall.

  
There was a dress code, of sorts: anything goes but you must wear a mask, darlings!

  
No one was to reveal their identity before the clock struck midnight.

  
A note at the end added: strictly no fireworks. From which Brian deduced that the host knew that at least some of the party goers would be suffering from shell shock following their experiences during the war.

  
Brian was not going to attend the ball, of course. The idea of him at a ball was ludicrous.

  
He had recently inherited and moved into his great-aunt Lucy’s cottage which was next door to Queen Hall. He suspected that was the only reason he had received an invitation. He could hardly complain about noise if he was helping to make it.

  
He could not attend, of course. Apart from anything else, where would he get a mask from?

  
*

  
On Brian’s thirteenth birthday his great-aunt Lucy had surprised him by revealing that she had never married as she preferred other females to males. Brian had shyly confessed to her that he thought he only found his own sex attractive too. (He suspected great-aunt Lucy might already have known that. She had not joined in the general conversation about how popular with the ladies Brian was likely to be nor had she asked if he was already ‘sweet’ on some lucky girl, for which he was grateful.)

  
Great-aunt Lucy had suggested that they should write to each other. They did not see each other much but wrote to each other often; a frank exchange of ideas and romantic updates. Great-aunt Lucy had a brief liaison with a lady who had come to stay at Queen Hall. ‘Fun while it lasted,’ she wrote to Brian.

  
It was great-aunt Lucy that Brian told when he met a couple of nice young men at university and embarked upon a relationship with them. ‘It must be simply delicious to have two lovers!’ great-aunt Lucy wrote to him enthusiastically.

  
Brian missed her terribly.

  
Brian had not seen his neighbours. There were four inhabitants of the Hall, all male. He had gathered that from the cleaning lady he shared with them. ‘They are a foursome, dear,’ she explained cheerfully, ‘such fun!’

  
Brian had been rather startled to hear this. A male couple openly talked about would raise eyebrows let alone a foursome.

(Brian knew this from bitter experience. Once upon a time, before the war in that different long-ago world, when he had been part of the trio great-aunt Lucy had approved of, voices and fists had been raised as well as eyebrows.)

‘Are you sure?’ he asked the cleaning lady.

  
‘I’m quite sure, dear, Mr. Freddie told me himself. He owns the Hall. The Mercury’s have always been an unusual family. It might be a bit different but they always have been.’ She had patted his arm. ‘Your aunt Lucy liked them all very much.’

  
Great-aunt Lucy had written to him after the war saying that ‘darling Freddie has brought such lovely boys back from the war to stay with him at Queen Hall.’ She had invited him to stay. ‘I know I usually come to London to see you but I do think you would like Freddie and his companions: you share similar inclinations.’

  
Yet it had never seemed to be the right time and the visit had never occurred.

  
Brian could not deny that he was curious about them but he could not go to the ball. He did not have a suitable outfit.

  
The cleaning lady had spotted his invitation propped up on the mantelpiece. ‘Oooh, you’ve got an invite! Their parties are supposed to be wonderful! Jugglers and fire-eaters; acrobats and dancers; magicians and musicians! I’d love to go!’

  
But he did not have an outfit or the means to get one so that was that. Besides, the party was in three days. It was out of the question.

  
*

  
A path led from the back garden of Brian’s cottage to a door in the high boundary wall that surrounded Queen Hall. Brian had never tried the door but later that day he saw it open as he stood looking out of the kitchen window, while he washed dishes.  
A slim figure wearing a hooded cloak stepped through. The person was carrying a box. Brian could not see their face.

  
He wiped his hands on a tea-towel, preparing for a knock on the door. He saw the mysterious visitor leaving again, however, without the box, which Brian presumed had been left at the door. Curious, he opened the door and retrieved the box.

  
He pulled off the lid. A card, the same thick cream card as the invitation, lay on top of white tissue paper. A hand-written note said: We would love you to attend our little soiree and I do hope you will accept this costume to wear to it. Kind regards. It was signed ‘Freddie’.

  
Brian carefully lifted the tissue paper (he had never been one to rip open presents) and found a black velvet jacket and trousers and a sheer black shirt with silver thread running through it. He could not accept these, he thought. They must have cost a fortune. Yet a little voice in his head whispered that he could accept them and if he did accept them then he could go to the ball.

  
There was no mask, though.

  
*

  
The next day, two days before the masquerade ball, another slender figure with a floppy hat obscuring their face, slid through the door in the wall and left a box at Brian’s door. This time the card said: We are looking forward to seeing you. We would be delighted if you would accept these shoes to wear, with warmest wishes. This time the card was signed, ‘John’.

  
The shoes were made of soft leather. They were silver with dark crescent moons and stars on them. Brian tried them on with the suit. Everything fitted perfectly.

  
He still needed a mask.

  
*

  
And it was ridiculous, of course. He could not go to a ball. People like him did not go to balls at grand houses. A house so fancy it was a hall rather than a mere house. People like Brian hid in remote cottages and avoided interaction with others so their secrets were not inadvertently revealed; so that their past actions did not cause distress to others. So that the fact that Brian was alive when so many others had died did not upset anyone. He could not go to something as frivolous as a ball.

  
*

  
The day before the ball a figure in an old, well-patched, dark red hooded coat entered Brian’s garden. The hood was hiding the person’s face. This visitor was leaning heavily on a wooden walking stick so Brian thought this was a young man who had been injured in the war rather than Little Red Riding-Hood which had been his other immediate thought. The visitor had a small box in the hand not holding his walking-stick.

  
This box contained a card which simply said: Your mask. Roger x

  
There was a postscript: You may claim your kiss tomorrow, if you like.

  
Brian had no excuse not to go now.

  
*

  
On the day of the ball Queen Hall was a hive of activity. Brian watched carts and vans swish up the driveway, advertising catering companies; laundry firms; suppliers of food and drink and a cleaning firm.

  
He had thought his cleaning lady might be a bit put out by the arrival of the cleaning firm. She seemed delighted, however. ‘Mr. Freddie has given me two days off on full pay,’ she explained, ‘He’s so lovely. They are all sweet boys.’

  
Brian thought of the outfit they had sent him and agreed that they must be sweet.

  
*

  
The invitation’s only instruction regarding time of arrival for the party was ‘after dark’. Brian did not want to arrive too early. He was glad he had the advantage of being able to see other guests starting to arrive, with his view of the driveway, now lit by flaming torches.

  
He dressed carefully. The mask covered the top part of his face. It was made of silver fabric with long ribbons which hung down his back.

  
Peering out from behind the mask he felt a sense of liberation. He could be whoever he wanted to be for just one night.

  
*

  
He was touched to find that flaming torches lit the path which led to the Hall from the door in the wall separating Brian’s garden from the Hall’s grounds. Only Brian would use that route so they had done this just for him.

  
As he neared the house he could hear music, murmuring voices and laughter. He felt a little ripple of anxiety.

  
The front door lay open spilling light onto the stone steps. Brian frowned: they were letting all the heat out.

  
‘Welcome!’ a voice called.

  
Brian looked up and saw a person dressed as a fairy on the steps. ‘Come in!’ She gestured inside with her wand. ‘You must be from next door.’

  
Brian nodded. He offered his hand to her. ‘I’m...’

  
‘No! No!’ she cried. ‘No identities to be revealed until midnight! Naughty boy! Come in!’

  
Brian followed her inside.

  
*

  
The entrance hall was large with a black and white tiled floor and a grand staircase sweeping upwards. Brian glanced up and saw trapeze artists flying above his head on trapezes suspended from the ceiling.

  
The hall was crowded with chattering guests. Staff circulated with silver trays of food and drinks. The staff wore identical uniforms and identical half-masks on their faces. Brian seized a glass of champagne from a passing tray. He felt in need of some liquid courage.

  
Liquid slopped over the side of his glass as a person dressed as the devil shoved past him. ‘Sorry,’ the devil muttered in an Irish accent. He did not sound very sorry.

  
Brian felt rather shaken and told himself sternly not to be so silly. He touched his own mask and reminded himself that no one here knew who he was. No one knew about his past.

  
Nevertheless he felt too conspicuous in the hallway and edged in the opposite direction from the devil. He slid through an open door and found himself in a large sitting room. A band was playing in one corner. Some guests were dancing. It still felt too crowded.

  
Brian noticed a man, dressed all in black with a plain black mask, who was edging around the room as if he too was keen to slip away to a less crowded area. The man in black seemed to be heading for a door near the band and Brian thought he might know the lay-out of the house and be worth following.

  
When he stepped through the door the man in black had escaped through he found himself in a quiet library and breathed a sigh of relief. Then he realised the man he had followed was right in front of him, studying him.

  
The man in black gestured towards the door they had just come through. ‘Too much?’ he asked sympathetically.

  
Brian nodded. The man in black offered him a cigarette. ‘No, thank you, I don’t smoke.’ Most people did smoke and most people commented on the fact that Brian did not so he braced himself for a remark. This man merely lit his own cigarette though, and sucked on it.

  
‘I hate parties,’ the man in black grumbled. ‘I don’t know why I let Roger talk me into attending this nonsense.’ He glanced around for an ashtray. ‘Who bullied you into coming? Freddie?’ He did not wait for a reply. ‘I was going to see who is lurking in the kitchen, if you would like to tag along?’

  
Brian nodded. He suspected this man had been an officer during the war. He had an air of competency and command which Brian found very attractive. He followed the man in black obediently into a corridor. The music and laughter drifted after them, growing fainter as they entered a large kitchen.

  
A jester was sitting on a large wooden kitchen table. He was wearing a red and yellow tunic and leggings. His feet were bare. He wore a red cap with yellow stars on it and three floppy ‘ears’ which each had a bell at the end, so he jingled every time he moved his head. The front of the cap extended down over his eyes, forming a half-mask. Big blue eyes peered out from the eye-holes. Blond hair spilled over the jester’s shoulders. He saluted sloppily as they entered. ‘Evenin’, Sir!’

  
The man in black grinned. ‘At ease, Blondie! I didn’t expect to find you in the kitchen, I must say!’

  
The jester smiled. ‘But you don’t know who I am! My disguise is impenetrable!’

  
Brian jumped as someone snorted at this. He realised there was another occupant of the kitchen, wearing a silver sparkly unicorn outfit. His mask had a horn protruding from it. ‘A fool dressed as a fool, yes, what a very clever disguise!’

  
The jester shrugged. ‘You, a glittery unicorn, are mocking my outfit?’ The blue eyes sparkled. ‘Yours is very fitting too, isn’t it: a horny beast?’ He laughed.

  
The unicorn sighed. ‘This,’ he indicated his own outfit, ‘is Freddie’s fault. You picked your own outfit. Freddie evidently sees me as magical and mythical while you see yourself as a fool.’

  
The man in black laughed. The jester pouted. ‘Horny beast,’ he insisted. He reached out his arm to the sparkly unicorn, and he leaned in for an awkward hug. The unicorn seemed to be both quiet and remarkable at the same time, Brian thought. That was attractive too.

  
The man in black cleared his throat at this display of affection and jerked his head almost imperceptibly towards Brian when the jester and the unicorn looked towards him. ‘Hello!’ the jester said enthusiastically, ‘It’s such a bore that we can’t introduce ourselves yet.’ He held out his hand and Brian shook it.

  
There was something familiar (and enchanting) about those eyes, Brian thought. There was something familiar about the way the man in black moved and held himself too. That was impossible, though. He had never been here before. He had never visited great-aunt Lucy’s cottage before her death. (This thought made him feel momentarily guilty.) He could not have met the jester or the man in black before. Lots of people had blue eyes. Lots of people had a military bearing, especially following the war. He was being silly.

  
The blue eyes were looking expectantly at him and Brian realised that he was staring at the jester and that he should really be responding to his greeting. ‘Pleased to meet you,’ he gabbled.

  
‘I do hope you haven’t told each other your names, dears!’ a new voice said. A king swept into the kitchen, swishing an ermine cloak. His crown was askew. His dark hair gleamed. He was wearing a gold half-mask. ‘That would be very naughty, little clown.’

  
‘No names used, no rules broken,’ the man in black assured the king.

  
The king’s gaze swept over Brian. ‘Charmed, my dear,’ he murmured.

  
‘Um... Likewise...’ Brian mumbled. He could not recall the last time he had been surrounded by so many attractive men.  
‘Listen now!’ The king clapped his hands. ‘No one is allowed to lurk in the kitchen! I want everyone out and circulating, please! Mingle, mingle, mingle!’ He tucked his arm into Brian’s. ‘You come with me, darling.’

  
*

  
The king seemed to know everyone, which made Brian suspect he was one of the hosts. He evidently knew who Brian was, too, introducing him as ‘our darling neighbour’. Of course all of Brian’s hosts knew what his outfit would look like. No, he corrected himself, three of them knew. He wondered again about the fourth occupant of the house, whose name he didn’t even know. Perhaps the fourth man did not want Brian here. Could he have heard rumours about Brian’s past somehow? Brian touched his mask again and reassured himself that was ridiculous. No one knew him here.

  
This train of thought was broken as the king halted, suddenly tense. Brian found himself face to face with the devil.

  
‘I don’t recall inviting you, dear,’ the king said icily.

  
‘Oh, but you did, Freddie,’ the devil drawled, ‘surely your memory isn’t going?’

  
So this was Freddie: flamboyant and majestic. Brian felt him bristle. ‘No names until midnight!’ Freddie hissed.

  
The devil laughed. ‘Oh please, as if we don’t all know one another!’ He glanced at Brian. ‘Although I don’t think I have met your new friend, here. Was Roger too broken after all? Did you need a replacement?’

  
Freddie was trembling. With rage, Brian realised, as he hissed, ‘Get out of my sight!’

  
The devil smirked and sauntered off. ‘Are you okay?’ Brian asked.

  
‘I’m simply splendid, darling! Let’s get more drinks!’ Freddie exclaimed.

  
*

  
The sparkly unicorn had literally waltzed off with Freddie, spinning him around the floor of the ballroom, and Brian was alone, lurking at the back of the entrance hall, just under the stairs, when someone excitedly announced that the devil was setting off fireworks in the garden. Brian thought of the strict ban on fireworks on the invitation and felt uneasy. The war had left many men terrified of loud unexpected noises and Brian assumed the ‘no fireworks’ decree on the invitation had been there because one of his hosts would be troubled by explosions.

  
Following his intuition he headed towards the kitchen as he heard the first bang from outside. In a lull between bangs he heard a whimper as he reached the kitchen door. The kitchen was bathed in red light as a firework exploded outside and Brian spied the little jester cowering under the table.

  
Brian crouched down. ‘Hey, you’re okay, you’re safe,’ he said softly. There was another bang and a flash of green light. The jester was making a distressed keening noise. ‘They can’t hurt you,’ Brian tried. ‘Look at me, please,’ he said firmly, and was relieved when the jester’s blue eyes, glittering with tears, met his. ‘Come to me,’ Brian commanded, holding out his arms, and was relieved when the jester scrambled over to him.

  
‘I’ll be good,’ the jester whimpered, ‘Make it stop, please.’

  
‘It’ll stop soon,’ Brian assured him, hoping that was true. Fireworks were expensive so surely the devil could not have many?

Surely it would be over soon. He sat on the floor, holding the jester and began to sing to him to give him another sound to focus on.

  
*

  
‘Rog?’ A panicked sounding Freddie erupted into the kitchen, closely followed by the unicorn and the man in black.

  
There was a screeching noise then another loud bang and the jester flinched, bells jangling. Brian gently rubbed his back.

‘You’re okay, you are safe with me,’ Brian told him. They heard a whistling noise, like an incoming shell, Brian thought, and the jester whined. ‘It’s okay,’ Brian assured him.

  
Freddie came over and knelt next to them. He placed his hand on the jester’s back. ‘We’re all here, Roger, love,’ he said softly. ‘Nothing’s going to hurt you.’ His eyes met Brian’s and he mouthed ‘thank you’ to him.

  
‘I am going to fucking kill Prenter!’ the unicorn howled.

  
They heard cheers and applause from outside. Brian hoped that signalled the end of the fireworks. He rubbed the jester’s back. So this was Roger. Freddie reached over and gently touched Brian’s arm. ‘I’m glad you were here, darling.’

  
The noise seemed to have stopped. The jester sniffed, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. ‘I’m so sorry,’ he told Brian.

  
‘You don’t need to apologise,’ Brian assured him.

  
‘I am going to murder him!’ the unicorn seethed, and swung around, storming out of the room.

  
‘John! Dear! Wait!’ Freddie jumped up and hurried after him.

  
The man in black approached. ‘Rog, you okay?’

  
The jester nodded. ‘We should go and make sure Deaky doesn’t do anything stupid,’ he said.

  
The man in black shrugged. ‘Not sure I’m that bothered if it involves murdering Prenter.’ He helped Roger to his feet and handed him the walking stick leaning against the table which Brian had not noticed before. Brian scrambled to his feet too and followed them back to the entrance hall, which was jammed with party-goers returning from the garden, where they had been watching the fireworks.

  
As they reached the entrance hall the devil came in the front door and the unicorn jumped forward, bellowing, ‘You! You fucking bastard!’

  
The devil’s eyes scanned the crowd. ‘Aw. Was little Roggie scared?’ he mocked.

  
‘How dare you?’ Freddie blazed. ‘Roger saved your miserable life, Prenter! He saved all our lives! You knew we didn’t want fireworks tonight and you knew why and you still did it! You are despicable!’

  
Roger stepped forward. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, Prenter, but I am completely fine.’

  
Brian could see that Roger was still shaking.

  
‘No harm done, then, is there?’ the devil smirked.

  
Brian was surprised by the anger that consumed him. Fuelled by rage he obeyed the sudden and unexpected impulse to step forward and punch the devil in the face.

  
He was both amazed and delighted when the devil sat down heavily, nose bleeding.

  
‘Bravo!’ Freddie said.

  
The devil scrambled to his feet. He pointed at Brian. ‘You are supposed to be a namby-pamby pacifist!’ he howled. He stared around him at the crowd. ‘He was a shirker!’ he announced, still pointing at Brian. ‘This man is a coward; he was a conscientious objector!’ He smirked as the crowd murmured disapproval.

  
Despite his mask Brian felt horribly exposed.

  
Roger stepped closer to the devil. ‘This man,’ he said, indicating Brian, ‘saved my life. He was a conscientious objector, it is true but he volunteered for the Ambulance Service during the war and when I was lying injured, in an area still under fire from the enemy, he volunteered to risk his own life to rescue me. These two men did that for me,’ Roger said, indicating Brian and the man in black.

  
*

  
Brian was back in France again, suddenly.

  
The man in black was the platoon officer begging for help. ‘Please,’ he had cried, ‘he saved us all. He is still alive! I can’t just leave him there! I won’t leave him there! Please, won’t any of you help me?’

  
There had been so much blood. Roger had been quiet. Brian had seen enough by then to know that the quieter people were the worse their injuries tended to be.

  
*

  
Brian shook his head, back in the present at this glittering, opulent party, a world away from the blood and mud and terror. ‘You survived,’ he said, wonderingly to Roger.

  
Roger smiled, ‘I’m full of surprises.’ He looked at the devil. ‘This,’ he indicated Brian, ‘is one of the bravest men I know. I’m afraid you are not welcome here. I would like you to leave now, please.’

  
The devil snorted. ‘Are you going to make me?’

  
Brian noticed Roger shifting his weight to his good leg. Roger raised his walking-stick and rammed it hard into the devil’s chest. The devil staggered backwards. ‘I reckon I can still kick your arse, crippled though I am,’ he said cheerfully.

  
The clock struck midnight as the devil slunk out of the house.

Freddie clapped his hands. ‘Everyone can remove their masks now, if they wish! Let’s have more music, champagne, dancing!’

  
*

  
As if by some unspoken agreement they all drifted back to the kitchen once most of the guests had departed. Roger was sitting on the table again. ‘You haven’t claimed your kiss yet,’ he murmured, his hair tousled from the removal of the jester’s cap. ‘Perhaps you don’t want to?’ He suddenly looked uncertain.

  
By way of reply Brian cupped Roger’s face in his hands and kissed him. ‘You knew who I was,’ he noted as he released Roger.

  
‘Crystal recognised you,’ Roger explained, indicating the man in black who had introduced himself earlier as ‘Christopher Taylor but everyone calls me Crystal’.

  
‘And, erm...’ Brian felt rather emboldened by the champagne and the intoxication of having beaten the devil, ‘you four are... together?’

  
‘Yes,’ Roger confirmed. He ran his fingers over Brian’s sheer shirt. ‘Would you like to join us?’

  
Crystal spluttered champagne everywhere. ‘Did you three plan this?’ he asked suspiciously.

  
‘It’s Crystal’s birthday,’ Roger said, walking his fingers up Brian’s chest.

  
Brian suspected he might be Crystal’s birthday treat. He thought he might be fine with that.

  
‘Your great-aunt Lucy told us a lot about you, Mr. May,’ Freddie murmured, standing behind Brian and sliding his arms around Brian’s waist. ‘Do you mind if I call you Brian?’

  
‘Uh, no, not at all, Brian’s fine. Er... Let me get this straight... Am I Crystal’s birthday present?’

  
Crystal spluttered champagne everywhere again.

  
‘Well,’ the unicorn (who had introduced himself earlier as ‘John Deacon, but everyone calls me Deaky’) remarked, ‘I wouldn’t put it quite like that...’

  
‘Exactly that,’ Freddie confirmed, ‘You are Crystal’s gift.’

  
Roger kissed Brian again and Freddie’s hands were caressing his chest. The fabric of the sheer shirt was sliding over his skin.

  
‘So,’ Brian continued, ‘you dressed me up and invited me here and... I assume you imagined undressing me too?’

  
‘Un-wrapping you,’ Deaky corrected him, ‘like the marvellous gift you are.’ He moved closer to them and gently stroked Brian’s hair.

  
Crystal grinned, ‘Just like you fucking lot; my birthday present is really a present for you too.’

  
‘You keep telling me sharing is good,’ Roger said primly.

  
‘Do I get any say in this?’ Brian asked.

  
‘You could refuse,’ Freddie murmured in his ear, nipping the lobe gently between his teeth. ‘But from what your great-aunt Lucy told me I don’t think you will, am I right, dear?’

  
Brian was slightly concerned about what great-aunt Lucy had told them about him. He had to concede that Freddie was right, though, there was no way he was giving up this opportunity. He glanced at Crystal. ‘You were the officer in charge; are you in charge in the bedroom too?’ he asked.

  
Crystal grinned. ‘Nah, mate, the privates,’ he winked and indicated John and Freddie, ‘are firmly in charge in the bedroom.’

  
Brian twisted his head but could not quite see Freddie. ‘Somehow, I thought you’d be a higher rank than that, Freddie.’

  
Freddie shook his head. ‘While I am, of course, a natural leader, darling, one of Crystal’s responsibilities was checking everyone’s feet daily for trench foot.’ Brian felt Freddie shudder. ‘I just couldn’t, dear. I never sought promotion.’

  
Crystal snorted. ‘That, plus you were an insubordinate pain in the arse,’ he noted.

  
‘So, what do you say?’ John asked softly, pushing a lock of hair off Brian’s forehead.

  
‘I just have one question,’ Brian told them.

  
‘Yes?’ Freddie queried, sounding rather impatient.

  
‘Where’s your bedroom?’ Brian asked, grinning at them.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, thanks for reading! I would love to know what you think.


End file.
